


I’m weak (and what’s wrong with that?)

by TheBashfulPoet



Series: Andreil Week 2019 [2]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Andreil Week 2019, Canon Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon, Sick!Neil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 18:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19728865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBashfulPoet/pseuds/TheBashfulPoet
Summary: Neil “I’m Fine” Josten gets sick and deals with it in the typical Neil Josten manner ie he doesn’t.Andreil Week Day Two: Fluorescent lights / deafening sounds / secrets





	I’m weak (and what’s wrong with that?)

**Author's Note:**

> Song: [Weak - AJR ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PcJ0r06ldYE)

When Neil opens his eyes in the morning, he immediately knows something is wrong. When he sits up and the world spins, he knows exactly what it was. After all he’s long since memorized the symptoms — a dry throat, a heaviness to his limps at even the mere thought of moving them, and the damning throb behind his eyes even when they’re closed. Letting his head hang in his hands Neil admits to himself that he’s sick.

The thought sends a bolt of panic racing through his chest — because being sick meant being vulnerable to attack. It meant slowing his mother down or being holed up in a dingy motel room or the passenger seat of a car for hours on end while fever made his mind a loopy mess. It meant suffering the consequences of any of those and adding a new scar to his already impressive collection.

He rubs his hands down his face and presses his fingers in his eyes in hopes of alleviating the pressure building behind them. After a minute, he removes his hands and bends down for his sneakers. Because if he’s learned anything from being sick over the years, the best way to get over it was to pretend he wasn’t. So that’s what he did. He shuffled over to his dresser for a pair of sweats and t-shirt (albeit a bit slower than he normally would have), got dressed, and headed out for his daily morning jog. And if that jog took longer than it normally did and his head was spinning by the time he made it back to the dorm, well that’s no one’s business but his.

Still, something must have shown on his face when he got out of the shower because Andrew’s brows dipped ever so slightly when he came into view. An unasked question flickers in those eyes but Neil ducks his head and waves him off. He was fine.

As if hearing his thoughts, Andrew gives him a flat bored look before turning back to the book in his lap. The relief Neil feels almost makes his knees go weak and collapse on the floor. Or maybe that was the sudden vertigo he felt rushing through his head. Regardless, he continues on to the room and dresses for the day.

Since they have a game that evening, Neil only has one class instead of the normal two, which means he only needs to keep himself awake for a maximum of an hour and a half before he can come back to the dorm and collapse for a bit. Fortunately that class is only a 5 minute walk from Fox Towers; unfortunately it’s calculus. Any other day Neil would love the class — finding the numbers and puzzles interesting enough to keep his interest while also providing a challenge to solve — but today the professor’s voice drones on and on until the sound of it grates on his every nerve and makes him want to claw his ears off just to get a reprieve. Minutes turn into hours and hours into centuries until Neil just lays his head down and waits for it to be over.

***

He must fall asleep because the next thing he knows his professor is waking him up with a shake to his shoulder. A frown mars her face when he flinches at her touch and quickly scans the room to see that it’s empty. He opens his mouth to apologize, but she quickly waves him off.

“Are you okay Mr. Josten? You normally are one of the few who doesn’t fall asleep in my class.”

Neil pushes himself up and begins packing his stuff away. “I’m sorry. I’ll be more awake next time.”

The frown doesn’t disappear. “I’m sure you won’t, but I’m less concerned about the fact that you fell asleep and more about the cause. You’re looking a little ill there.”

“I’m fine,” he tries to give her a reassuring smile. “Just stayed up a bit too late last night practicing.”

The lie must not be very convincing because she purses her lips and her brows further dip in. But thankfully, she lets the matter drop with a sigh and wishes him good luck on the game before going back to the podium for her own things. Taking the reprieve, Neil shoves the last of his notebook and pens into his bag and runs out of the room and back to the dorm. If he’s quick enough, he can sneak in a nap before Kevin drags them to the stadium to go over last-minute plays or review footage Neil’s pretty sure he’s memorized by this point. He takes the elevator instead of the steps, one part because it was quicker and two parts him not sure his legs could carry him up three flights of stairs and not fall flat his face. One quick ride later and he’s digging out his keys for the door hoping for a nap, when the door swings open and he comes face to face with Nicky.

“Neil! Thank God you’re here!” He grabs a fist full of Neil’s shirt and yanks him in, “I need someone to prove my point to Kevin!”

Kevin scoffs from his spot on the couch, “You’re wrong if you think Neil is going to prove anything other than my point.”

“Nuh-uh! Tell him Neil!”

Neil opens his mouth when Kevin cuts him off. “You’re wrong, Nicky.”

“I’m right, Kevin.”

“Wrong!”

“Right!”

They both turn to Neil. “Tell him!”

Neil looks between the two of them and once more tries to open his mouth when he’s cut off again.

“Neil’s on my side!” Nicky whines, “Stop trying to take him.”

“No, he’s on mine!” Kevin counters. “Name one time he’s disagreed with me?”

“You mean besides every day at Exy practice? Or maybe when-”

“You clearly don’t know what you’re talking about. Neil always agrees with me on Exy.”

“Always agrees?! Are you an actual moron?? Or maybe Andrew just hit you one too many times on the head during practice yesterday?”

It quickly devolves from there, each bickering back and forth like small children over god-knows-what until they’re screaming at each other. Neil quickly gave up on all hopes for a nap and instead shuffles back to his bed to stare at the ceiling. That’s almost like napping, right?

The answer is a resounding no when Kevin barges in later and demands Neil get up so they could go to court and his head pounds at the sound of his voice. He grits his teeth and hauls himself up from bed once more, ignoring how his arms shake at the exertion and how his vision blurs and swims at every movement. But he’s fine, so he shakes it off and climbs down the stairs and grabs one of Andrew’s hoodies on the way out (someone must have turned the AC on because he was freezing).

When he emerges from the bedroom, Andrew is leaning next to the door with his keys in hand and a bored expression on his face that only flickers when he sees Neil swimming in a big black sweater. A question swims in those eyes, but Neil just shrugs and follows Kevin out. The drive to the stadium is decidedly uneventful with Kevin nagging in his ear about some stats or whatever and Andrew and Neil easily ignoring him as they concentrate on the road — or rather Andrew does and Neil tries not to flinch as the dying sun streams in his eyes. If either of them notices, they don’t mention it, so Neil counts it as a win.

He parks himself on the couch and lets time blur as Kevin drones on and on about the upcoming game (complete with video evidence to back up his points because Kevin’s that extra) and Neil occasionally lets out a grunt when prompted or expected. All in all, he thinks he does a pretty damn good job of disguising the rising nausea he feels in his stomach and the high-pitched ringing that fills his head at the slightest noise. Even when the other foxes start trickling into the lounge and the noise level rises, Neil doesn’t even flinch despite wanting to claw his ears off. Complete success.

“Are you just going to keep staring at me or are you going to get your ass into the locker room and change out?”

Or maybe not so successful.

Neil blinks up and notices Wymack looming over his shoulder with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. Only then does he notice that the lounge is empty except for Wymack and himself. Whoops.

“Sorry Coach. Getting dressed now.” He pushes himself off the couch, but his legs wobble so he has to grips onto the arm before he topples over.

Wymack frowns and reaches out a hand to steady him. “Hold on there, Josten. Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine.” The look he gets in return is less than believing, so he tries again. “My leg just fell asleep and I tried to move too fast. I’m fine.”

Wymack still looks like he doesn’t believe him but removes his hand from Neil’s shoulder and waves him on towards the locker room. Neil makes it a point to straighten his back as he walks out of the lounge. He was fine.

He was fine as he beelines to his locker and pulls out his uniform. He was fine when pulled on his gear in the bathroom stall and his lungs screamed for air at the exertion. He was fine when his body protests bending over to change into his shorts and his skin goes clammy with sweat. He was fine when he joined his teammates back in the lounge where Dan played music to hype them up for the game, the bass throbbing in time with the pressure behind his eyes.

Fine.

Which is why when the team starts heading out of the tunnel leading towards the court, Neil ignores the screams of the crowd and the Vixens and focuses on the glass walls of the inner court. Ignores the way the fluorescent lighting seemed to blare in his eyes despite the fact that his helmet casted a shadow over them. He ignores it all and grits his teeth.

Finefinefinefinefinefine.

He takes his starting position at half-court and waits for the buzzer. When it goes off, he flies. Everything washes away and all that is left is Exy and the Foxes and the goal. He loses himself to the rhythm of his feet slapping against the ground, the smack of the ball hitting the plexiglass walls and Kevin’s voice barking commands in French as he ducks and weaves towards the goal. He listens to the symphony of the sport and his teammates and forgets everything else. And for the first time all day, he feels fine. Kevin shoots the ball into his net in an impossible pass for anyone but them and Neil takes the shot straight into the goal. He is rewarded with the red glow of the goal’s lights and Neil’s face splits into a smile.

Then Neil’s world goes sideways and then black.

***

When Neil wakes up next, it’s in a white room, there is a wet cloth pressed to his forehead, and a disapproving Abby is staring down at him. The disapproval only grows when he tries to push himself up with weak arms and falls back onto the bed.

“Do you know what your fever was at, Mr. Josten?” Her voice is too even.

“I’m-”

“102!” She cuts him off. “You went onto that court with a fever of 102 degrees Neil. Do you know how dangerous that is?”

He opens his mouth.

“Not to mention just stupid!” She peels off the wet cloth and replaces it with another cooler one. “I swear to god you’re trying to be the death of me, aren’t you?”

Neil winces.

“First, it’s the scars. Then it’s coming back from Evermore looking like you went ten rounds with a shredder. Then it’s the actual mafia!” Her voice rises in pitch with each instance, and Neil tries to get the bed to swallow him whole. “I’m too young for these grey hairs Neil.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh no, don’t apologize to me, apologize to your teammates who had to carry you off the court tonight when you collapsed.” She gives him a sharp look. “Apologize to Andrew who has been pacing outside my door for the past two hours as we’ve been trying to get your fever down.”

Neil turns his head away and tries to ignore the heavy feeling sitting on his chest. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, but this time his voice is smaller — frailer.

Abby sighs, the anger leaving her shoulders and replaced with a sense of exhaustion. “I know Neil.”

The bed dips under her weight as she sits next to him and she gently brings his face back around to meet her gaze. Her eyes are soft and watery as unshed tears threaten to fall.

“I know you don’t mean to scare us like that, but when are you going to learn that we worry about you. That you can rely on us.”

Neil can’t meet her eyes, “I don’t know how,” he admits, the truth too raw and painful to meet head on, but he’s sick of lying to them.

“Oh Neil,” her voice it too soft, too knowing, so Neil closes his eyes.

“Can I see them?”

She cards her fingers through his hair, “I’m sorry Neil, but they’re still on the court.”

Neil shoots up, “The game’s still going on? What’s the score? Are we winning?”

Abby chuckles, steadying him when his body begins wavering at the sudden movement. “Woah there, I guess you’re feeling better already.” He opens his mouth but she cuts him off, “No, you can’t go out and watch them. Wymack gave me strict order to tie you to this bed if I need to.”

Neil does not pout. He doesn’t. Abby laughs.

“How about this? There is one person who can visit.” She adjusts the pillows to support his weight sitting up and then quickly crosses the room to open the door.

The moment it swings inward, Andrew fills the frame, his body holding itself in a tense line, the muscle in jaw twitching and his fingers curling and uncurling in clenched fists. His eyes find Neil’s immediately. Neil sees the pure fury blazing behind them and he swallows. (Oh shit.) Abby smirks knowingly as Andrew stalks into the room and closes the door behind her as she leaves Neil to his fate. (He is only mildly upset because… yeah, he kinda deserves that.)

Andrew closes the distance between them in seconds, stopping just before his bed to loom over him and glare. “You have three seconds to explain why the fuck you went on that court knowing you were sick.”

“I’m not sick,” Neil denies, throat constricting at the very thought.

It’s the wrong thing to say because Andrew’s jaw clenches. “You had a fever of 102 and passed out on the fucking court. You. Are. Sick.”

“I’m-”

“If you finish that sentence with fine, we’re going to have a problem.”

Neil shuts his mouth.

The silence only angers Andrew more. “Explain.”

“What do you want me to say?” Neil sighs.

“How about the truth for once,” Andrew sneers and Neil flinches. “No more lies.”

“I didn’t lie-”

“Omitting the truth is just as bad as lying.”

Neil looks away, knowing Andrew has a point — he did technically lie by avoiding all of Andrew’s unasked questions today.

“Start from the beginning. How long has this been going on.”

He sighs, “I woke up this morning feeling crummy, but it wasn’t a big deal.”

“Apparently it was if you passed out on the court. Not to mention you were actively trying to give yourself a heat stroke with a sweater and playing Exy with a fever over 100 degrees.”

“I didn’t know I had a fever. At most I just thought it was a migraine.” Neil squeezes his eyes shut and rubs at the slight pounding behind his eyes. “I’ve played with worse so I figured it would be fine.”

“Fine,” Andrew scoffs. “You don’t know the meaning of the fucking word. You can’t even admit that you are sick.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” Andrew steps forward until there are only inches left between them. He rips the cloth off his forehead and throws it away.

“No, I’m not.” Neil grits out, but then the pounding gets worse and he has to lower his head to stave off the rising nausea. “I can’t be.”

Andrew stills, the anger quickly replaced with that careful blank mask. “Why not?”

“Because I can’t.”

He gets impossibly closer. “Why not Neil?”

“Bad things happen when I get sick,” he whispers, the words tight in his throat like if he says them any louder it will make them true.

Andrew looks at him long and hard, hazel eyes flickering with rage and fire even as he slips a hand under Neil’s neck and squeezes. He brings their foreheads together and Neil lets his eyes slip close at the cool press of his skin again his own burning flesh.

“Neil look at me.” Andrew commands, voice even and slow. Neil doesn’t want to open his eyes — the effort to do even that seeming too much — but he obeys and cracks them open. Blue crashes with green and flecks of gold. “Do you remember what I promised you?”

Neil hums.

“Then you know that I will not let anything happen to you.” Andrew squeezes harder. “Ever.”

Neil wants to believe him — he does — but images of his mother’s fists and Lola’s knives cloud his vision until his body shivers with revulsion and fear. It does not deter Andrew in the slightest, only prompting his grip to tighten.

“Have I ever broken my promise Neil?”

“No,” Neil sighs.

“Then stop making my life harder by lying to me when you’re sick.”

He lets his eyes fall shut as he leans further against Andrew, his body relaxing when he doesn’t even budge against Neil’s added weight.

“’m sorry,” he mumbles, sleep heavy on his mind as Andrew hold him up.

Andrew lets go of his neck favor of carding his fingers through Neil’s hair. “Go to sleep Junkie. I’ll come up with a punishment when you wake up again.”

Neil hums, knowing that he was mostly kidding, and lets the heat of Andrew’s body and the slow rhythm of his fingers through his hair pull him under. His last thought before everything goes black once more is that maybe being sick isn’t so bad if he can have this every now and again. He doesn’t notice the smile tugging on his lips, nor the soft press of Andrew’s mouth on his forehead but all in all, Neil feels pretty damn good when the world goes black.


End file.
